


Cinema

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A bit silly, AU: Different First Meeting, Explicit Sexual Content, Films, First Date, Flirting, John's Cane - Freeform, John's blog, M/M, Mrs Hudson helps, Nightmares, Sherlock tries to be romantic, Therapy, cinema
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4264908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's nightmares drive him across the street to the all night cinema where the tall, dark projectionist provides in an interesting distraction.</p>
<p><i>Cinema can fill in the empty spaces of your life and your loneliness.</i><br/>--Pedro Almodovar<br/></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/><img/><br/>Note: This story came from a prompt suggestion that included the above picture.<br/>We cannot find the original, but want to credit them, so if it's you, let us know!<br/>Looks like the picture comes from <a href="http://gingercatsneeze.tumblr.com/post/80978536306/both-of-them-work-in-the-same-cinema-at-221b-baker">gingercatsneeze</a>. Thank you, Just A Reader, for the heads up!</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Point of Attack

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John couldn't see from the sand in his eyes, flying up around him as his ears rang. There was too much going on -- bombs were exploding, gunshots were being fired, men were yelling for help all around him. He could feel the bullets flying past him, grazing his arms and his hair. He was stuck, unable to move forward and holding nothing but a stethoscope in his hand. How was he supposed to help anyone with that? What was he supposed to do? Suddenly there was a sharp pain in his shoulder, and then he felt warmth spreading across his chest. He fell into the sand. The ground was shaking. He was cold now. He saw the blood, and he dropped his stethoscope to try and stop it. He yelled for help, but he had no voice. _You're the doctor!_

He gasped loudly and woke with such a start that his breath caught in his throat. He was crying and he cursed softly, sitting up properly. He wiped at his face hard and then rubbed his aching leg. It was just after midnight, but he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep again for a few hours. He could almost smell the carnage from his dream. He needed to distract his brain and think about something else. He looked over at his desk, at the laptop sitting on top of it. He was supposed to be writing a blog, but no one cared about the nightmares of a soldier. The blog was supposed to help him be normal, be a regular civilian again. He doubted he ever could ever happen.

He stood with a groan and grabbed his cane, making his way to the little kitchen to warm some milk. A shout of laughter made him jump, and he looked out of the little window. Some kids were coming out of the all night cinema across from his flat. John watched them walk away and then looked at the marquee to see what was playing. It looked like a foreign film -- John didn't recognise the title at all --but he considered it. Normal people went to cinemas. Maybe not at one in the morning, but it was a step. He thought about the dark room that was sure to be empty, but instead of being alone and focusing on his bad thoughts, he would be out, watching someone else's story, focusing on that. 

He put the milk away and got dressed, making sure he had his key before heading out. The pavement and the street were deserted now. He moved slowly, making his way across and buying a ticket from the man half asleep in the booth. It was a small place, just a single room, and even during normal times, it was rarely busy. Now it was completely empty. He made his way inside and looked up at the projection booth where he saw a dark haired man fiddling with the film and the projector. John smiled and sank into a seat right in the middle, sighing softly and waiting for the movie to start. 

Sherlock was glad the kids had left. He'd have the place to himself now and could just enjoy the film on his own. It was the only reason he'd taken this job -- it was just an excuse to be able to watch films on the big screen without having to tolerate other human beings around him, talking or eating or just generally being annoying. He checked his watch and saw it was time. But then he noticed someone in the fifth row. He hadn't seen the man come in. He was sure this man would annoy him. He started the film. He stayed upstairs, not sure whether or not to risk going down and possibly having to interact with this stranger.

John settled into his seat and watched the movie, reading the subtitles. It was calming, very relaxing. He could feel himself getting sleepy, and he wished it was this easy at home. He couldn't wait to crawl into bed. The movie was good, a love story but he didn't need any action films after his nightmares. When it was over he pushed himself up and started for the door slowly.

Sherlock spent the duration of the film trying to figure out who the man was and why he was determined to ruin everything. Maybe he was a drunk off the street? That seemed unlikely -- his hair was too tidy. When the credits began to roll, Sherlock felt even more annoyed that he had missed a film he'd wanted to see simply because of this guy (though he simultaneously felt a bit smug that he'd been right about the man ruining his night). As he watched the man leave, he noticed the cane and a slight limp and a handsome face, though none of these things made him feel any less annoyed.

At three thirty when the picture was set to begin again, he was pleased no one new had come in. He got it rolling and moved down to the seats, watching the whole thing in solitude. The movie was horrible.

He closed things up and headed home, slinking into bed, and falling asleep immediately.

As soon as John got home he stripped into his pants and climbed into bed. He thought about the movie, replayed it in his head, and eventually drifted off to sleep. He dreamt about the film's story, he was in it with a faceless woman. He couldn't understand anything she was saying but he didn't mind. He remembered thinking that he was glad nothing was exploding.

When he woke up he felt better than he had in days. He decided right then that when he had nightmares, he would go to the cinema. Whatever was playing had to be better than what he saw in his head every night.

He felt so good that he limped over to his desk and opened the blog. He stared at the draft for a moment before starting to type slowly.

_1149 Tuesday, 14 September 2010_

_The nightmare was back last night, much worse than before. I went to the cinema and saw a foreign film. I had to read the subtitles but it was calming. I slept much better after that._

He stared at the post. It was the most boring thing he'd ever read, but he posted it anyways. He needed to be a regular civilian again. He had to try.


	2. Exposition

Sherlock woke up late in the afternoon. He checked his email and his website, but there wasn't much of interest. He looked through some film descriptions to see what films he wanted to bully the cinema owner into ordering next. He wondered why and how the man managed to keep the place open -- it couldn't be making a profit. It was strange. But there was something Sherlock really liked about working there. It was like he could control everything -- whichever film he picked to show, he could step into it and forget about the real world. If he enjoyed the world of the film, he could stay in there all night. If he hated it, he could simply turn it off. He wished he could do that with real life sometimes.

He heard a knock at the door and went to answer it. Mrs Hudson pushed in and moved to the kitchen to make some tea.

"Tenants have rights, you know," Sherlock mumbled.

"Shush," she said, bringing him a fresh mug and sitting down near him. "So, you were out late again last night? Do you have a new . . . friend?" she asked.

"No," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes a bit. "I was working."

"You shouldn't work so late," Mrs Hudson scolded. "You need to get out, meet people."  
  
"I don't like the people I meet," he said. "I prefer the ones I never get to meet."  
  
Now Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes. She stayed pestering him for a while before he insisted he had to get ready for work. She eventually left, fussing his hair a little. He unfussed it when she left and then got into the shower. Then he got dressed and headed over, deciding to walk since the evening was nice. He was glad it was a Tuesday. At most he'd have a couple or two for the nine o'clock showing and then he'd be on his own. 

After having a small breakfast John took a long shower and got ready to go see Ella. They were having appointments every other day, and he hoped that soon they could drop down to once a week, or even better not at all. He knew that therapy worked -- he had seen it in other soldiers and even on himself. If they could only figure out the nightmares and his leg, John would he all set. The problem was that John wasn't hurt in his leg. Just like his nightmare, John had been shot in the shoulder. There was a starburst scar there now and his arm worked just fine thanks to the physical therapy he'd had, but now his leg was sore for no reason at all. Well, it was stress and anxiety, but as a medical doctor John was reluctant to accept that. 

Despite the pain in his leg he walked to Ella's office because his pension was pitiful and he still needed to buy groceries for the week. He took his time, but it really was unbearable. He would have to take a cab back home but at least he'd have saved a little. He signed in at the desk and didn't have to wait very long before he was called in. He sank into the chair a bit harder than he meant to, and he leaned his cane on the arm of the chair. 

"John. How did you sleep?" Ella clicked her pen out and waited. 

John looked at the pen and then at his hand which opened and closed over his knee. "Not well," he said. 

"The same thing?" She asked, jotting in her notebook. He noticed she had it angled up so it was harder for him to see. 

John nodded. "I'm always stuck in the sand. I can never save anyone."

"Did you try the breathing techniques?" 

John shook his head. "I felt really tired before so I thought I would be too exhausted to dream. But I went to see a movie."

"A movie?" Ella asked, poising her pen to write again. 

"There's a cinema across from my flat and it plays old movies or foreign films all night. I went and watched one, and I slept a lot better after," he explained. 

Ella was still writing when John finished and then she looked up and smiled softly. "That's a good sign, John. Something helped you," she said. 

"So I should just go to the cinema in the middle of the night?" he asked. 

Ella sighed softly. "John, you need to assimilate. That it not going to happen overnight. This could be the first step to healing and once you are healed you won't have to do anything. Just be patient." 

"And my leg?"

"We talked about this, John," she said gently. "When your brain heals, your leg will too. I know it's hard. But you have to be patient." 

John knew she was right, but he still hated hearing it. They talked about the blog and they went over the breathing techniques again before John left the office. He stopped at the shop first and then got a cab back to his flat, carrying everything up and putting it away. He made himself dinner and watched the news for a bit before he got ready for bed. He started the breathing techniques, trying to really focus on them even though he felt silly doing them. Eventually he fell asleep but he quickly fell into the same nightmare. He was stuck in the sand, shouting out that he was a doctor and he wasn't supposed to be there. He woke up when he was shot again, wiping hard at his face. 

He got up and checked the time. He'd made it farther into the night this time -- it was almost three in the morning. He was going to lay down and try the breathing exercises when he looked out at the cinema. Why not try again? He rubbed his leg for a few minutes before pushing himself up and getting dressed. He made his way across the street, bought his ticket, and headed inside. He was going to his usual seat in the middle when he noticed it was taken. He recognised the dark hair of the man in the projection booth last night. The movie was already playing. Not wanting to bother him, John stopped a couple rows back and settled in. 

Sherlock heard someone enter the cinema. He decided he would will them away. He squinted and concentrated hard, pulling all his energy into daggers which he shot from the back of his head. He turned his head a little. The person hadn't gone.

He stood up dramatically and started back upstairs. When he passed the person, he tried to shoot daggers from his eyes but then he noticed it was the same man as last night. Who was he and why did he keep coming here? On a Tuesday? What was going on?

Sherlock was going to figure this out. He moved to the back wall and leaned against it. He watched the man watching the film, watched the man who was ruining everything for Sherlock.

John couldn't help but watch the man stand up suddenly and turn to leave, especially when he glared at John like he wasn't supposed to be here. It made him feel uncomfortable, but he had already paid for his ticket so he wasn't just going to leave. He sank down a bit and tried focusing on the film, fighting the urge to turn around and see if the man was still watching him. The place was big enough for two people, and John had picked a seat plenty far away from him. 

Sherlock moved a few rows behind the man and sat down. He was no longer interested in the film -- instead he watched the man. He tried to imagine what his life was like outside of this building. He was handsome so probably had a partner, but why was he alone in the middle of the night? Maybe he worked the midnight shift but he'd been fired and was now hiding out instead of admitting his failure. What was his job and why did he get himself fired? He looked intelligent, maybe was a professor. No, professors don't work night shifts. A doctor? Maybe. He was working in A&E -- he was distracted or tired and had misdiagnosed or maybe prescribed a medicine that had killed someone. Someone elderly or maybe a child -- yes, he'd been fired and shamed for killing a child. And now here he was, enjoying a movie when a child was dead at his hands and his poor partner was sleeping at home, blissfully unaware that this man's carelessness has destroyed their future together.

Sherlock smiled a little. This was actually more enjoyable than the film.

John heard the man moving around, but he didn't look. He pulled his cane close, moving it between his legs and twisting it for something to do. It was harder to focus on the film now, and he was worried that if he didn't he was going to have nightmares again. He felt like he could feel the man's eyes on him, but maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe the man had an anxiety disorder or paranoia and didn't like people behind him where he felt like _he_ was being watched. After considering that John calmed down and focused on the movie again. It wasn't that man's fault. In fact, it made John like him a bit more than before because John had anxiety as well, just a different sort. They were similar. 

When the movie ended he pushed himself up and turned around, smiling at the man before making his way slowly up the aisle. He hoped the smile hadn't made things worse -- what if the man now thought John was following him or stalking him? He hadn't thought about that. He tried to hurry out of the cinema so the man didn't have to worry about him. Not for the first time, he cursed his leg for slowing him down so much. 

Sherlock watched the man get up. He saw the man smile at him, but refused to turn his head to acknowledge -- a child murderer's smile didn't deserve recognition. He waited until he thought the man was gone before he stood up. But the man was still there, moving slowly with his cane. The cane was interesting. For some reason, Sherlock thought it wasn't necessary. Was this man faking an injury, going for the sympathy to try to win people back? Sherlock didn't move, just watched. Sherlock might not have thought the cane was necessary, but the man certainly did.

Maybe he wasn't a killer at all. Maybe he hadn't been fired. But why was he watching films in the middle of the night? He looked up again, and the man was gone. Sherlock went back upstairs to change the film. He wondered if the man would be back tomorrow. For some reason, he kind of hoped he would.

Once again John fell asleep so much easier after the film. He dreamed he was in the film again -- this time it was an old movie about a gangster family in New York, and he had fallen in love with a member from a rival family. The whole dream he was taking precautions and sneaking out to a meeting place, and when he finally got there he found the man from the projection booth. He woke with a start and stared up at the ceiling, unsure what to make of this dream. After a few minutes he decided that he wouldn't make anything of it. His brain was far too impressionable, and he was just going to have to live with that. He would rather dream about the projection booth man than his usual stuff. 

When he got out of bed and ate breakfast he went to his laptop and opened the blog again. 

_1438 Wednesday, 15 September 2010_

_I went to see another movie after my nightmare last night. It's very effective. There was another person there though, so I didn't feel as odd as the night before. A bit awkward, but I think he had some kind of anxiety as well so it was okay. I'm not sure if he will come down again tonight. Maybe I scared him off. I suppose we'll see tonight._

After posting the entry he realized that he was fill planning on going to the cinema again tonight without even needing a nightmare to lead him there.


	3. Inciting Incident

John thought about the paranoid man and wondered what he would think seeing John there a third time in a row. Maybe John could talk to him tonight and explain why he was there so the man wouldn't worry. 

While he was on the computer, he looked up the cinema in the hopes of finding an employee list but there was nothing online about it. Then he started looking for jobs again, browsing the surgeon jobs with a bitterness he could feel in his chest. He missed it. His hand clenched and unclenched on the desk. He closed the page and started the search again for jobs he could actually do with his tremor. After a while he closed the computer and turned on the news, checking the time. He wanted to show up at midnight this time, and he hoped he could stay for two shows. As it got closer, he changed his clothes and made his way over, buying two tickets and heading inside. He promised himself he would walk both ways from Ella's tomorrow. When he stepped into the empty room, he made his way up the aisle and paused. There was a sign over one of the seats that said 'reserved'. 

John looked around the room and then up to the booth. No one was in there. He went into the aisle and sat beside the reserved seat, waiting for the film to start.

Sherlock stood partially behind the curtain. He was waiting for the man and smiled when he saw him come in. He took a little bit of pleasure in the man looking confused. He started the film and waited a few moments. Then he went down and walked to the man's row and headed down it, forcing the man to get up. He sat down on the other side of the reserved seat. He waited for the man to sit down and then turned and looked directly at him.

John tried to ignore him, but it only lasted a few seconds. He couldn't help himself. He turned his head and looked at the man back, hoping his face didn't show what his brain was thinking. The man was very handsome. John hadn't been expecting that. 

"Why didn't you sit in the seat I reserved you?" Sherlock asked.

"I thought it was yours so that I wouldn't bother you," John said quietly. The man's voice made him a hundred times more handsome. It was deep and, despite them being alone, he still spoke softly. 

"I was worried there'd be a rush, and I wanted to make sure you weren't disappointed," Sherlock said. "Are you hungry? Can I get you a snack of some sort?"

John raised his brows but couldn't help a small smile. "No, I'm not hungry," he said. "Thank you, though."

"Let me know," Sherlock said. "Wednesdays are our special nights. Full service. Anything you need."

"Okay," John said, slowly turning towards the film again. He was nice. Clearly not anxious or paranoid. That made John a little uncomfortable again, but he tried not to think about it.

Sherlock knew he had two choices. He could stop talking and watch the film, maybe even go back up to the projection room. This would be the polite thing to do. He could turn back and ask the man's name, just ask why he kept coming in on his own. This would be a normal thing to do. But polite and normal were not words used frequently to describe Sherlock Holmes. He didn't want to leave and he didn't want to ask. He wanted to investigate, to discover. This man interested him, and that was an unusual event. He wanted to enjoy figuring this out.

"Thursdays are two-for-one," Sherlock said quietly, looking up at the screen. "Shall I reserve two seats tomorrow for you and a friend?"

John glanced over and shook his head. "One seat will be fine," he murmured.

Interesting, Sherlock thought. The man was so handsome -- why was he alone? Maybe he's new to the area. That didn't seem quite right -- if he didn't move here for a partner, he must have moved here for a job and if he was just starting a new job, he would be home sleeping. He couldn't be on holiday -- the man didn't look relaxed and this crappy cinema was hardly a tourist attraction. Maybe he'd left the area and had recently returned. He needed to find a job but was struggling. Sherlock glanced towards the seat between them, seeing the man's cane leaning against the cushion. He remembered the man slowly walking out last night, and Sherlock's certainty that the cane was a metaphorical as well as literal crutch. This was a new injury -- one that the man had yet to come to grips with, one that had a much greater meaning than just physical discomfort. Sherlock looked up at the man's face, lit by the light of the film. It looked older than the man was. His eyes had lines that meant he'd seen things he wished he'd hadn't, maybe even death. He wasn't a cop -- Sherlock's bias interpreted the man as too intelligent to be police. So that meant he was a doctor, but not A&E. The weight on this man's shoulders was bigger than that. The weight on this man's shoulders was war.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock whispered.

John could feel the man looking at him again -- really looking hard at him. His gaze was hard to ignore, but John tried very hard to keep looking at the screen. If he looked back . . . well, he didn't know what would happen then. He didn't know why it made him so nervous to think about it. And then the man spoke and John blinked at the screen, trying to process what he'd just heard. He looked over at him now. "How . . . how do you know that?" he asked. 

"I read it in your face and leg . . . and your late night habits," Sherlock said. "Insomnia or nightmares?"

John looked at the screen again as his hand opened and closed over his knee. "Nightmares," he said. 

"Do you speak French?" Sherlock asked.

John glanced over, amused now. He'd been worried about the direction of the conversation, but now it seemed to be getting better. "Not at all. Do you?"

" _Je parle un peu_ ," Sherlock said. "Look, I've seen this film a few times already. I don't think it's your cup of tea. You could close your eyes and just listen. That might be relaxing." He swallowed. "No one'll come in. You can fall to sleep if you want."

"I don't want to sleep here," John said. "It's relaxing anyway."

"All right," Sherlock said, standing up. "I didn't mean to disrupt you." He moved to the other end of the aisle. "If you do fall asleep, I'll wake you when it's time to go." He started walking back up to the projection room.

"You don't have to -- I mean, if you have work, it's fine," John rambled. He smiled quickly and turned back to the movie. It had been nice to have company, someone other than his therapist.

"I'll still be here," Sherlock said. "Just up there," he adding, pointing to the window. He kept walking and realised he was smiling so he made his face neutral again.

In the projection room, he sat down and noted what was happening in the film. He also watched the man. A wounded doctor -- the kind of thing that must make a man like that miserable. He wondered if he were trying to get a job, trying to get back to how he'd been, or if he worried he was too damaged. Sherlock wasn't sure. He wondered if the man knew yet.

John could not focus on the film, but he wasn't thinking about his nightmares either. He was glad that man had come to talk to him. He was odd -- maybe he didn't have anxiety, but he was definitely different. It was a good different. He made John feel calm as much as the movie had. When it was over and he pushed himself up, he glanced up and wondered if the man was watching him. He cursed his cane even more now. He waved in case the guy was looking down before he left. 

Back at his flat he crawled into bed and couldn't remember anything about the movie. He could only remember that man and his handsome face and his soft, deep voice. When John fell asleep he dreamt of that man. His brain was in the setting of the first movie he had seen, the love story, only instead of the faceless woman, it was that man. 

In the morning when he woke up he limped over to the laptop and opened his blog. 

_1112 Thursday, 16 September 2010_

_I met someone at the cinema last night. The man who works there and he was very nice. I didn't have nightmares last night so that was nice too. I am going back tonight before I sleep so it can be prevented again._


	4. Complication

John closed the computer and got ready to go see Ella, walking to the office like he promised himself he would after buying two tickets the night before. He didn't feel the pain in his leg today as much as he usually did, and it was one of the first things Ella mentioned. 

"I didn't have a nightmare last night," he said. 

"Oh?" Ella jotted that down. 

"I went to the cinema before I fell asleep and watched the film. I talked to the man there," he said. 

"What man is that?" 

"He works there," John said. He watched Ella write that down as well. 

She didn't mention it again. He talked about his blog and the fact that his leg wasn't doing as bad today. Ella thought it was connected to the nightmares now. John had to admit that it made sense. He agreed to keep an eye on the connection before leaving. He walked back home, and now his leg was properly hurting him so he lay down to rest for a little while before dinner. His mind drifted to the cinema tonight and wondered if that man would sit with him again. 

Sherlock woke up and decided to stay in bed to think. He stared at the ceiling and let his brain go, presuming that whatever appeared must be something he needed to think about. What appeared was the man from the cinema. Sherlock thought about his handsome face and the way he walked. The man's face was different when he was walking; it revealed that he hated whatever it was that was causing his dependency on the cane. Sherlock wondered what his nightmares were about -- the war, presumably, but what precisely? A specific event or maybe just the feelings that came with whatever happened? He wondered if those feelings were also connected to the man's limp. He realised he wished he could help the man. That was strange -- the urge to help someone for purely selfless reasons rarely struck Sherlock Holmes. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Yes, it was true. He wanted to help him. He rolled out of bed and got ready for work.

He walked in so that he could make a quick stop at the shop. The man hadn't yet come to the nine o'clock showing, which was good because tonight there were two couples who arrived together right as the film was starting. Sherlock looked them over. One of the men was obviously a cheater and quite possibly was cheating with the woman from the other couple. Sherlock didn't care. He was just glad when they left.

He moved into the room and walked down to the row where the man had sat last night. This time he put reserved signs on the two seats they had sat on and on the one in the middle, he laid a rose, two mugs and a flask of tea. He wished now he had brought food -- he was annoyed that he hadn't thought of bringing food. But he hadn't. He went back up to the projection room and waited, hoping the man would come back again.

When John was too hungry to ignore anymore, he pushed himself out of bed and made his way into the kitchen to make himself some dinner. He noticed his phone was blinking and he checked it, reading a message from someone he went to medical school with. Mike was a nice guy but not someone John fancied seeing again. His text mentioned a possible job opening though and he sighed, looking around his small flat. Some extra money would be nice. And just then he thought about the man at the cinema and how John might want to take him out one of these nights. He would need money for that. He sent a text back and agreed to meet Mike for dinner, picking a local place so he could walk comfortably. 

Unfortunately his leg was still sore from earlier in the day so it was a miserable walk to the restaurant. Mike wanted to hear about his time abroad and John was trying not to talk about it. The dinner was awkward. John didn't want to straight up ask for the job so that Mike didn't feel like John was using him, but Mike was just rambling on about how much the university had changed. John felt guilty being annoyed because he really was nice but he also wanted to be at home or at the cinema. Finally Mike brought up the job, a small surgery where he could see patients all day for minor things. It was part time but the pay was good, especially for someone as qualified as John. 

Mike promised to give John's information to the head doctor of the surgery and then, despite John's protests, paid for the dinner. John made a mental note to be nicer to Mike and to take him out for drinks when he got his first pay packet. Mike walked half way with John before getting a cab to go home. John continued the rest of the way on his own, a lot slower and in complete agony. He had walked too much today. He should have known better than to overdo it like this. 

When he got into his flat he went straight to the bath and filled it with hot water, climbing in slowly and sighing as he settled into it. He leaned back and closed his eyes, massaging his leg under the water. When he woke up he was freezing. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he quickly drained the tub and hurried into his bed and let himself fall into the warm coziness on his bed. He fell asleep again. He had an awful nightmare. He was in the desert again but there was a soft, deep voice calling for help. It sounded close to him -- right in his ear -- and yet whichever way he turned he couldn't see anyone. He moved sluggishly in the sand, shouting out for him even though he didn't know the man's name. And then he tripped over something and he scrambled around in the sand. The man from the cinema was bleeding all over, and John couldn't do anything but watch. His own chest hurt, not in his shoulder like usual but right where his heart was. Before he could see if he was hurt he startled awake, grasping at the alarm clock. It was six in the morning. 

"No no no no," he said, grabbing his cane and limped over to the window. The cinema was closed. He felt awful. His dream still clung to him, and he felt sick.

Sherlock waited and waited and the man never came. He felt stupid -- why had he done this? He didn't know anything about this man, not really. What made him think this man would come back, let alone would want to have a pretend date with Sherlock? Once the film ended Sherlock went down and grabbed the stuff from the seats. He felt embarrassed. But he also felt disappointed. Focusing on the embarrassment seemed easier somehow.

When his shift was over, he walked home and climbed into bed. He didn't want to think about what happened and the fool he'd made of himself. He pulled the covers over his head and went to sleep.


	5. Conflict

The day seemed to take forever to pass. John didn't have an appointment with Ella so he had nowhere to go. He wrote on his blog, mentioning the possible job and apologising profusely to the man who worked at the cinema. He was sure that man had no idea about this blog, but he did it anyway just in case. He had to try everything. Despite his sore leg he kept pacing to the window, hoping to catch the man heading into the building. Every time he didn't see him he felt silly. That man was probably not even thinking about John -- he probably didn't even care that John had skipped a night but John cared. He hated it. 

Around lunch time John got a call from the surgery for an interview. He printed his resume, took a quick shower, and then took a cab into town. He met with the woman in her office where she firstly wondered why he wanted a job that would be so boring to someone so qualified. John's jaw tensed, but he knew it wasn't her fault. He briefly explained about his injury, and she quickly changed the subject back to the work load. When he left he was confident that he had the job. She said she would call him when she made her decision, and there was something about the way she said it that made John feel like she would call him for something else as well. He thought about the man at the cinema and didn't flirt back. On his way home he realised that might have been a silly thing to do, but he wasn't going to give up yet. 

He made dinner in his flat and watched the news while he ate. Now that it was night time he was visiting the window a lot more, trying to catch him going in for his shift. Was there another door for employees? What if he had missed him going in already? In a couple hours he was going to find out for sure when he went across. He would buy two tickets again so he could stay all night if he had to. 

Sherlock woke up a few times during the day but stayed in bed until early evening. He still felt stupid. He eventually dragged himself from his sheets and moved to take a shower. He didn't bother getting dressed but just put on a clean pair of pajamas. He made a cup of tea and moved to his desk. He checked his email but there was nothing of interest. He wasn't sure why no one was contacting him about cases. He wanted to work on cases. Those he understood and never felt embarrassed by.

Mrs Hudson came up to the flat, bringing a container of soup. "Have you eaten this week?" she said, putting the soup in the fridge.

"I feel fine," Sherlock said.

"You stay up all night and don't eat -- that's not normal. If you say you feel fine, you don't know what fine feels like," Mrs Hudson said. She made them both cups of tea and then walked over to his desk. "What are you working on?"

"Nothing," he said, closing up his laptop. "No one reads my website and no one calls for cases."

She watched him closely. "You're pouting," she said.

"What if I am? I don't know why no one hires me when I'm an excellent detective," he replied in an extra pouty voice.

"Is that why you've taken that cinema job? Sherlock, if money's an issue . . ."

"That's not why I took that job -- I took it only so I could watch films on my own. It doesn't matter, I'm thinking of quitting it anyway . . ." he mumbled.

"Don't make decisions when you're pouting," Mrs Hudson said. "Why do you want to quit?"

"It's stupid," Sherlock said. He was not unaware that his answer made him sound like an eleven-year-old brat. "It's turning me stupid."

"Interesting," Mrs Hudson said. "And what have you done that you feel is stupid?"

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing," he repeated.

Mrs Hudson was quiet for a few minutes, just sipping her tea. When she finished, she set the mug on the table. "Last night I was on the Internet and I found some interesting things," she said casually.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Porn or online gambling? Neither one is interesting," he said.

"Sherlock!" she said in mock offense. "I was reading something about how you can tell when people are lying. They repeat things, as if they're trying to convince themselves that what they're saying is actually true. Do you know where I read that? On some website called The Science of Deduction. It's interesting. You should check it out."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What's your point?"

"I asked you what stupid thing you'd done, and you said 'Nothing' -- twice. You're lying. Now tell me the truth," she shifted in the chair to get comfortable.

"I met someone . . . at the cinema," Sherlock mumbled.

Mrs Hudson smiled. "That's not stupid, Sherlock. It's exciting."

"No, it is stupid, because I . . . was looking forward to seeing him and then he didn't come back and I felt like an idiot."

"Well, maybe something came up," Mrs Hudson offered, trying to be encouraging. "Why don't you just call him?"

"Because I don't know his name," Sherlock said. "I mean, I've no reason to call him anyway. We just talked a little, that's it. I don't know why I thought it mattered. It's probably because I'm bored. I need more work, proper work. I need to do something about the website."

"Deflecting," Mrs Hudson said. "Changing the subject -- also a sign of lying." She smiled softly. "It's all right to like him. Maybe you could find him, you know, like a case."

"No," Sherlock said quietly. "I'm embarrassed."

"Stop it," she said. "Don't be embarrassed for being human, Sherlock. Maybe he'll come back."

"Doesn't matter. I'm quitting that job," Sherlock said.  
  
"Go back, Sherlock," she said.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders a little. He got up and took his mug to the sink. "Don't you have something better to do besides pestering me?" he said as he washed up.

Mrs Hudson got up. "I suppose, but it's not as fun as pestering you," she said, walking over and fussing his hair. "You're sweet sometimes, Sherlock Holmes," she added and then moved towards the door.

"You take that back," Sherlock called. When she left, he unfussed his hair.

The movie started and John looked up at the booth again, but it wasn't his friend. It was someone else. He wondered if the man was hiding, or if maybe he had switched shifts so he wouldn't have to see John again. He didn't like thinking about that so he tried to focus on the film instead. It was another love story but John didn't feel as good about it this time.

When it ended he got up to leave. The man wasn't here and there was no reason for John to stay. He'd have enough to think about to avoid the nightmares. Well, he hoped so anyways. On his way out he saw the man working coming out of the bathroom.

"Excuse me, can I ask where the other guy is that usually works?" John asked.

"Who are you?"

"Just a friend of his," John said.

"He doesn't have friends."

"Please, can you tell me when he's working next?"

"Are you mental? We don't give schedules out. You could be a murderer, couldn't you?" And with that he walked into a door marked 'employees only' and locked it behind him.

John sighed and went home, tossing and turning all night. He had the nightmares about the man dying again, and he was up too early the next morning. His mind was racing with possibilities, trying to focus on the obvious one that his friend didn't work every night. That had to be it, he told himself.

His saving grace was that the woman from the surgery called and offered him the job. John not only took it but asked to come in immediately. There wasn't much work but she agreed and John took a cab in. He saw a few patients and he'd been right -- it was painfully boring. But it was a job. He was good at it. He shouldn't be complaining.

When they were closing up she asked John out for a drink but he declined. When she looked hurt John explained that he was seeing someone already. It was technically true. She didn't need to know that currently they were not speaking or that he didn't even know the man's name. He picked up dinner on the way home, the cab and the take away an easier choice now that he knew more money would be coming in.

As it got dark he started looking out for his friend but again he never saw him go in our come out of the cinema. He went to bed early, staring at the ceiling for a long time before falling asleep. He was going to skip going tonight and hope that he could see the man during the week.


	6. Peripety

Mycroft woke Sherlock on Saturday morning with a project. Sherlock wasn't pleased to see his brother, but he was pleased to have something to do. He decided not to think about the cinema or the man. He wasn't scheduled to work until Monday -- he refused to work on the weekends when people might actually be there. He didn't have to decide what to do until then.

Mycroft's project kept Sherlock mostly busy, but he couldn't help occasionally thinking about the man with the limp, wondering if something had happened to him or if he just hadn't found Sherlock as interesting as Sherlock found him.

Why did Sherlock find him interesting? He wasn't entirely sure. The man was handsome, but it was more than just a physical attraction. There was just something about him. Sherlock wanted to know him, wanted to know his life story -- he wanted to be a part of his life story. It was strange and he did find it a bit embarrassing. But he knew it was true. 

On Monday evening, Sherlock decided to go back to the cinema. He wanted to see the new film and maybe just a part of him hoped that Mrs Hudson was right and the man would be back. Sherlock wouldn't do anything stupid this time. He just wanted to see him again. And if he didn't return . . . well, Sherlock wasn't sure what he'd do, but he'd deal with that when it happened. 

John wrote in his blog again on Monday morning, talking about his new job and hoping that he would get to see his friend again. All he wanted to do was apologise and show him that he really hadn't minded the company.

He went to see Ella around lunch time and she was very proud of him for finding a proper job and for using the blog. She asked about the man at the cinema but John was very vague about that. He didn't know what it meant and he didn't want her filling his head with ideas before he could figure it out on his own.

That night he bought two tickets again and headed inside, trying not to look around too obviously. He went to his usual seat, glad the room was empty, and he waited, staring at the screen.

Sherlock was waiting to begin the film, pretending he wasn't waiting for the man to arrive. And then the man did arrive. Sherlock's stomach felt funny for a moment, and then he felt a flood of relief. Until he realised he had no plan. He started the film on time and then tried to think. The man didn't know about his failed attempt at a date, so there was no need to mention that. He'd just pretend that it was normal, just like last week (because actually it was). Sherlock worked at an all-night cinema and this man was just a customer. That's it.

He took a deep breath. He walked down and took a seat a little behind the man. When the previews finished, he said, "This film is better than last week's."

John had tried looking only at the screen so he didn't appear to be looking around desperately. But all of that was null when he heard the man speak. He turned around quickly, a look of immense relief on his face. "I'm sorry I missed you last week," he said firstly. He watched the man's face and hoped he'd at least noticed John hadn't been there, so this apology didn't seem strange.

"It's all right," Sherlock said. Because it was, at least now that the man had come back.

"I came Friday, but I didn't see you," John said.

"I don't work at the weekend," Sherlock said. "I don't know your name," he added, which in his head seemed a sensible connection to the comment, but sounded odd coming out of his mouth.

"It's John. John Watson," he said. "I asked your coworker about you -- about when I would see you again -- but he didn't tell me anything." John didn't know why he had admitted that.

Odd, Sherlock thought. "That man knows nothing about me," he said. "My name's Sherlock Holmes. It's nice to meet you, John Watson." He realised he was making a little smile.

John smiled back, saying the name over and over in his head so he would never forget it. "I just thought he'd know when you came back to work," he explained. He shifted in his seat a bit and looked at Sherlock again. "Are you still angry at me? Will you come sit next to me again?" 

"I wasn't angry. I was . . . disappointed. I thought we could take advantage of Thursday's two-for-one," Sherlock said quietly. What on earth was he doing? Why was he being so . . . honest and just a bit daft about all this? He got up and moved to John's row, sitting in the seat next to him. He looked over and smiled despite feeling quite awkward about whatever was going on.

"I bought two tickets tonight so I can stay longer," John said. Sherlock was so close their arms were almost touching, and the skin on his arm felt warm just at the thought.

Sherlock smiled. "I'm glad," he said. "But you needn't have bought two. Once you're in, no one cares how long you stay." He turned to face the film, conscious of how close they were. It'd been so long since he'd been this close to another person. It was strange but also nice. He kind of felt like he'd like to be even closer.

John's fingers opened and closed on the arm rest but instead of anxiety, it was nerves now. He didn't know anything about Sherlock but he hoped, really hoped, that Sherlock wasn't taken. He gently touched Sherlock's hand, tracing his fingers, silently asking for permission to hold his hand. 

Sherlock tried not to react in any way to John's initial touch -- he didn't want to pull back in surprise or jump onto him in lust even though both those responses flashed in his mind. He thought about breathing -- inhaling and exhaling -- and then twisted his hand slightly so that he was holding John's. He didn't turn his head or even take his eyes off the screen. He just held John's hand, softly but surely. 

John sighed softly with relief. He glanced over without moving his head at all and wondered what Sherlock would think if John just suddenly straddled his lap and kissed him. The thought made him blush and smile softly. Another time perhaps. For now he held Sherlock's hand, glad that he was able to.

They sat quietly throughout the duration of the film. Once it ended, Sherlock turned and said, "Better than last week's, right?" He wasn't sure if he should let go of John's hand, but he didn't.

John nodded. "Yes, this one was fantastic," he said, even though he couldn't have told Sherlock what the movie was about to save his life. "Do you have to go up to change the film?" 

"Do you want to watch it again?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I really just want to stay longer," John admitted. 

"What do you want to do?" Sherlock asked quietly. He let his fingers lightly stroke John's wrist.

John glanced at their hands -- at Sherlock's fingers moving so slowly over his wrist -- and so many nerve endings lit up it was like Sherlock was touching his whole body at once. "Can I kiss you?" he asked softly, forcing his eyes back to meet Sherlock's. 

"All right," Sherlock said. He pulled John's hand to him as he leaned closer.

John closed his eyes and closed the space between them, kissing Sherlock's mouth softly. It was hardly anything, but when he pulled back, it felt like the best moment in any romantic film. His brain was empty except for how soft Sherlock's lips were. 

"John Watson," Sherlock said, once the kiss was over. He pulled their hands closer, pulling John back in for another kiss.

John smiled into the kiss as he returned it, much more sure now that the first one was done. He moved his lips and tasted Sherlock's mouth. He felt like he had been saved from death for this moment. His free hand came up into Sherlock's hair and buried in soft curls. Everything about him was soft and sexy. John wanted everything about him. 

Sherlock lifted his hand to John's head, tipping it to deepen the kiss. It felt good -- it was as simple as that, kissing John Watson felt good. Eventually he pulled back. "Do you want to go get a cup of coffee or something?" he asked. He checked his watch. "If no one arrives within fifteen minutes, they let me close up . . . well, I mean, I can close up."

John nodded. "The thing is . . .I got a job now so I have to actually sleep at some point. Um, how about tomorrow after I get off and before you have to open?" 

Sherlock sat back just a little, but still held onto John's hand. "Yeah, all right," he said. "That sounds good. Shall I meet you somewhere?"

"We can exchange numbers and I'll text you. I wish . . . I don't want to leave," John sighed.

"I'm glad you came back," Sherlock said. "Are you working in a hospital?" he asked, wondering if he'd got John's job right.

"A surgery," John said. "I hurt my arm in the war so I can't operate anymore," he said.

So, Sherlock was right about being a doctor and also right about the leg not being the real physical injury. "I'm sorry," he said. "Is the job okay, though?"

"It's boring," John smiled softly. "But it's okay. It pays the bills. Keeps me busy."

"Do you work every day?"

John shook his head. "It's just part time. You work every day here, right?" He couldn't stop looking at Sherlock's mouth. He kissed him again, lightly pecking his lips so he could still answer.

"Well, right now I just work during the week, but in all honesty, I might leave," Sherlock said. "It's not my real work -- I mean, I just do it for the films and privacy. I've never cashed a single cheque . . ." He was really enjoying John's kisses.

"What's your real job?" John asked between kisses.

"Consulting detective," Sherlock said. Then he pulled back a little. "Wait, why did you come back tonight? To see the film or to see me?" 

"To see you," John said, holding his gaze.

"Why?"

John blinked at him, feeling a bit confused and awkward. "I-I like you," he said. Hadn't that been obvious?

"But why? Just because of . . . my face or whatever?" Sherlock said. He had a feeling these were not the kinds of things he should be saying, but he remembered that he hadn't been quite clear on why he found this man so interesting. Perhaps John's explanation of his attraction could help Sherlock understand his own.

"Well . . . at first, yeah. But you're sweet. And clever with that...reading people. I'm comfortable around you. Calm and happy," he said.

"Have you still been having nightmares?"

"Not when I come here. And when we talk I dream about you," he admitted.

There was something about that Sherlock liked even though it was unusual. "Thank you," he mumbled because he didn't know what else to say.

"For what?" John asked softly. "I should be thanking you."

"John Watson, you are an interesting man," Sherlock said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Number, please."

John took Sherlock's phone and entered his number, then texted himself so he'd have Sherlock's. "You're interesting as well. I can't wait to see you outside of this darkness," he smiled.

"I'm less attractive in the light," Sherlock said. He slid his phone into his pocket and looked around. "I should go up and sort things. You'll text when you're home from work?" 

John nodded and pushed himself up, touching his arm lightly.

"I'm glad you came back," Sherlock said and smiled. A genuine smile. He headed upstairs.

John made his way back to his flat, grinning like an idiot the whole way. He was thinking about Sherlock the whole way and he couldn't wait to fall asleep and dream about him. For the first time in his life he didn't mind his impressionable brain, and he went to bed looking forward to his dreams. 

Sherlock finished up in the projection room and ended up leaving only a bit early. He walked home as the morning was breaking. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of what had happened, but he felt good and had liked talking to John and kissing him, so he decided that was good enough for now. When he got home, he crawled into bed, still thinking of John and their date tonight.


	7. Rising Action

As predicted John dreamt about Sherlock. They were walking in a park for hours, holding hands and kissing under trees and their bodies were touching and pressing together over and over. It was fantastic. He hated the alarm when it went off.

Sherlock woke up when he heard Mrs Hudson in the kitchen. It crossed his mind to tell her about John and then he realised that would be stupid, especially because in truth he knew she'd probably figure it out anyway. He slid out of bed and put his dressing gown on. When he left his room, she already had his tea ready.

"I think I could sue you, you know, for invasion of my privacy, coming in unannounced like this," he mumbled, taking the mug and giving a little nod as a thank you.

"What have you been doing that's so private, eh?" she asked, tidying up the mess around the kitchen.

"I'm just saying, there's no crime in being asked to come in, you know," he said, sitting down at his desk. He looked out the window as he took a sip of tea. "It's bright out," he said for no reason except that it was true.

"So you didn't quit the cinema?" she asked.

Sherlock didn't respond.

"And did you see your friend?" she asked, a little excitedly.

Sherlock didn't respond to that either except maybe there was a little smile on his face.

"Oh Sherlock," she said, going over and fussing his hair. "Are you going to have a date?"

"Not a date," he said, pulling away a little and smoothing his hair. "Coffee or something. He has a job and I have a job, two jobs really, so I don't have time for dates, you know."

"Is it tonight?" Mrs Hudson asked, ignoring what he was saying. "Shall I pick something out for you to wear?"

"Mrs Hudson, I am capable of dressing myself, you know," Sherlock said.

She looked over at him and smiled. "All right, fine," she said. "I'm downstairs if you need me . . . don't be late to your date. That's not good." She walked over and gave him a kiss on the cheek and left.

Sherlock didn't wipe her kiss from his cheek.

At work John tried to stay focused and rush through patients a bit, eager to get out of work so he could see Sherlock. Near the end everything seemed to have slowed down annoyingly but finally the last patient was walking out of his office and his phone was already out. 

_All done. I hope you had a good day. -JW_

Sherlock had been showered and dressed since three since he couldn't remember quite when John had said he'd be done. His phone startled him even though he'd been waiting for the text for two hours. He stood up and then sat back down and then realised he preferred standing.

_Where shall we meet? SH_

_There's a little place on the main road, it's got a blue sign. We can get something to eat as well. -JW_

_I know it. Thirty minutes? SH_

_See you there. -JW_

John left the office and started the walk to the restaurant. It wasn't too far from his work, farther from his flat actually, so he was going to save his cab fair for the ride home. It was a nice day and thinking about seeing Sherlock made him forget the pain in his leg. 

Sherlock paced for a while and then headed out. As he passed Mrs Hudson's door, she popped her head out to wish him luck. Sherlock could only assume she'd been standing there all day waiting to hear him go. He felt a little nervous actually, but he decided to ignore it.

When he got to the place, John wasn't there yet so he took a table a little near the front so he could watch the window for John's arrival.

When John saw the blue sign, his stomach flipped nervously. He bit his lip as he approached and paused on the pavement when he saw Sherlock through the window. He was gorgeous! In the dark of the cinema John had no idea the extent of -- oh! He flushed as Sherlock looked up and smiled. He huffed out a breath and made his way inside, taking the seat across from Sherlock. "Hello."

Sherlock had seen John cross the road and watched him walk in. As John sat down, Sherlock said, "You're still handsome, even in the day time." He smiled stupidly because he didn't know if that had been the right thing to say.

"You're even more," John admitted. "You know, I'm glad I met you in the dark because if I had seen you normally I'd have never had the guts to hit on you. And I invaded a country, mind you," he smiled.

"I'll be honest, if we'd met in the light, we probably wouldn't have spoken," Sherlock said. "Only because I'm not a fan of people, I suppose. That's why I work in the cinema -- I can see films but don't have to see people. Until you, I mean." He looked stupidly at his hands for a moment and then said, "Should I get you a drink?"

"We can get a bottle of wine if you want," John smiled. He reached out and touched Sherlock's hand. "How come you don't like people?"

Sherlock motioned for a server to order wine and their food. "I guess I find most people boring," he said to John. "And most people find me irritating and if I'm honest, I probably am. Especially to boring people."

"You're not," John said. "I don't think so anyways." He sipped at his wine and smiled at Sherlock.

"That's because you're not boring," Sherlock said. "But I bet some of the people you saw at work today were. Correct?"

John grinned. "Every single one of them. I wish I was a trauma surgeon again."

"That's not the only way to avoid boredom," Sherlock said. "Is there nothing you can do that's more exciting to you?"

John shrugged and fingered the bottom of his wine glass. "There could be. It's silly, missing the danger that gives me nightmares."

"Why don't you find something else dangerous?" Sherlock said. "Bungee jumping or skydiving or some other stupid thing like that?" He took a sip of wine.

John shook his head. "Those things are quick, over in a flash. When I was a surgeon I never knew what was going to happen next."

"My cases are sometimes like that," Sherlock said. "The problem is, I just can't get enough of them to keep from being not bored. I wish more people were victims -- I mean, I wish more victims contacted me."

John chuckled softly. "Maybe we can find a way to put you out there more. Do you have a card? I can keep them at my office," he said. 

"Do you see a lot of victims in the surgery?" Sherlock laughed. "So what do normally do in the evenings now that you're a working man?"

"I suppose I can't stay up all night watching movies -- I should be somewhat rested for my patients. But I would like to keep seeing you, though, maybe at this time? We don't always have to go out," John said, realising too late he had basically invited Sherlock to his flat where there was nothing to do except . . . well. He met Sherlock's gaze and tried to read on his face what he thought about that. 

Sherlock looked down at his glass. "Well, if I get a case, I might not be able to," he said. "Do you think you'll come to the cinema anymore?"

"Yeah, I will," John said, looking down as well. "I mean, I only work part time so I'll have a lot of days off so yeah, I will." 

"I might leave that place, but it'd be nice to see you there until I do, that's all I mean, I guess," Sherlock said. "I feel bad now -- I wish I didn't have to go to the cinema tonight. I'd like to spend the evening with you. If you wanted to, I mean."

"Why are you leaving?" John asked.

"I was just doing it for the hell of it, since I had nothing else to do without a case," Sherlock said. "But I feel like maybe I have something else to do now." He took a sip of wine. "Anyway, I don't want to just walk out on the guy -- he's let me take advantage on a number of occasions. Maybe I'll give him a week. Do you think you can come a couple nights?" He reached over and held John's hand. "I liked being with you there."

John laced their fingers. "Yeah, I'll come," he said. "What . . . um, when will I be able to see you again?"

"If you work tomorrow, we could meet again -- if I don't have a case, I mean," Sherlock said. "Which I probably won't."

John didn't know why he suddenly felt so panicky. People with jobs dated all the time. "Okay. I know we'll figure it out," he said.

"Okay, I just . . . um," Sherlock said, looking at his watch. "I've not got to go in for a couple hours. What do you want to do?"

"We can go for a walk? No, I mean . . ." He glanced at his cane. "The park is nice, though, we can go sit by the water."

"Or we could go back to my flat," Sherlock said. "If you wanted to. I mean, I have tea. Or yours. Or the park." God, Sherlock thought. Why was he having such a hard time speaking properly? It was easier in the dark, but Sherlock wanted to be able to talk to John during the daylight as well. 

John looked up at him quickly at the mention of going to his flat. "Mine is right by your work so if you wanted you could go straight over and stay a bit longer," he said. 

"Yeah, that'd make sense," Sherlock said. He finished his wine. "Too many boring people here," he said, smiling.

John smiled. "We can go as soon as we finish eating," he said.

"All right," Sherlock said. "But you should know I don't really eat much," he said.

"That's all right," John said. When the food came he dug in happily. "I've been trying to cook for myself but this is much better," he joked.

"Why don't you get a flatmate -- then you'd always have someone to cook for and you could do something like that," Sherlock said, motioning to John's food, not quite sure what it was.

John shook his head. "No one wants me as a flatmate," he smiled.

"Why? You're very likeable, I think," Sherlock said, smiling as he picked a little at his food.

"Yeah but I'm up at odd hours and I move slowly and the nightmares . . . it's best no one is there to see," he said.

"I've seen all those things . . . well, two of them and the effect of the other one, and I was glad I was there to see," Sherlock said. 

"Well maybe you should move in," he said without thinking.

"I can't," Sherlock said without thinking. "My landlady relies on me too much. She's obsessed with me a little. And with you actually."

"With me? What do you mean?" John asked, forgetting about the moving in.

Sherlock's face flushed. "I might have mentioned you," Sherlock admitted. "I mean, I did mention you. That I talked to you. That I met and talked to you at the cinema. I mentioned it to her."

"Really?" John smiled. "Well, that's really nice, actually," he said.

Sherlock's face felt even warmer. "Well, like I said, you're unusual."

John attempted a mock offended look, but he was smiling too much to pull it off. He was a bit confused about all of this -- one second they could only meet at the cinema and the next Sherlock was talking about John to friends. Whatever it was, he wasn't ready to give it up. "Um, do you want to head out?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said. He pulled out his wallet to lay down some money before standing up.

"Do you mind if we take a cab?" John asked as he got on his coat.

"That's fine," Sherlock said. He headed out to the street and hailed a taxi. Once they were inside, he asked, "Do you think you'll ever give up the cane?"

"I can't, my leg hurts and I need it to walk," John said.

"Do you?" Sherlock asked quietly. And then in a louder voice, he said, "So you live alone near the cinema." It wasn't really a question -- it was just a set of words because Sherlock wasn't quite sure what else to say. He realised that things were so much easier before -- when it was dark and they were sitting in front of a giant screen with other people's lives playing out in front of them. It was easier then because Sherlock was not very good at playing out his own life. He could solve cases, he could complain about people, he could pout about not having work. But when it came to his own life -- his personality and certainly his feelings -- he was much more awkward. He hoped John couldn't see it, but knew that he probably could.

John gripped the cane for a moment before nodding. "I don't know how else to…" he said. "Um, we don't have to walk and if we do, I'll try not to be slow."

Sherlock looked over at John. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's none of my business." He reached over and touched John's hand lightly.

"It is a bit," John said. "If we can make this work," he added, motioning between them.

"John," Sherlock said. "I don't know how to make this work, but I would like to keep knowing you. When I decided I wanted to know you, you had a cane. Whatever I have to offer, if doesn't come with the provision that you get rid of it. I wonder if you need it, but you clearly think you do and you're a smart man. We all have crutches of some sort and occasionally we rely on them…anyway I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

John looked out the window and didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to make of all of that. "It's okay. Let's just stop talking about that now so we can go to my flat and snog before you have to go in," he smiled.

Sherlock looked over and smiled. "If you insist," he said.

John squeezed his hand and looked out of his window until they arrived at his flat. He insisted on paying the fare and then led the way up to his flat. He felt nervous now, wondering what Sherlock was going to think of this little place.

Sherlock followed John up the stairs. When they went inside, Sherlock saw that it was tidy, which made sense, but quite sparse. He assumed that it was because John hadn't been there long -- John seemed much more interesting than this place implied. He felt like he should say something so he said, "Can I have a cup of tea?" As the words came out of his mouth, he realised they were probably not the ones he should have chosen but it was too late.

"Yeah, let me start the kettle," John said, moving into the kitchen. "Make yourself at home."

Sherlock took off his coat and laid it on the chair. He sat down on the small sofa. "My flat's much messier than yours," he said, before getting up and following John into the kitchen.

John grinned. "Somehow that sounds like you're judging me," he said.

"Not at all," Sherlock said. "Organisation is good -- it's important to my work. I just somehow can't make it important to things that aren't my work, I guess." He looked around a little. "It seems though -- and this isn't a judgment -- that there's not much of _you_ here. I've not known you long, but I know there's more to you than this." He swallowed awkwardly. "If you don't mind me saying."

"I don't mind you saying," John said. "I don't have a lot of stuff so I'm not surprised." He handed Sherlock a mug and sipped from his own. "Let's sit on the sofa," he said.

Sherlock moved with John to the sofa, settling in before taking a sip of tea. "I like you," he said and then quickly added, "I mean, I like spending time with you." He took another sip of tea.

"I like you too," John said, meeting Sherlock's gaze and smiling warmly. "I also like spending time with you."

Sherlock drank some of his tea. He moved a little closer to John.

John smiled as they sat together in silence, drinking their tea. He could tell that Sherlock was shy -- holding back for some reason but John wasn't sure why.

"Should we kiss again? Like at the cinema, even though it's light out?" Sherlock asked. "I guess I'm trying to say I'd like to."

"I would like that," John smiled, scooting a bit closer. "Just like the cinema." He put his mug on the table so he could hold Sherlock's cheek, tugging him closer.

Sherlock set his mug down and move even closer. He kissed John's mouth softly, dropping his hand on John's leg.

John kissed back with a small hum, moving his lips with Sherlock's but not enough to deepen the kiss. This was still new, and he didn't want to get too worked up. 

"John," Sherlock said softly. He kissed his mouth again and then squeezed his leg. It felt nice kissing him, even outside the cinema. He really liked John -- he still wasn't entirely sure why he felt like that but he did.

The kisses changed to soft pecks and John moved them along his jaw and down to Sherlock's neck. He couldn't help it. Sherlock's neck was long and there was so much to taste. He licked out softly. 

"John," Sherlock said again. He closed his eyes to the feel of John's mouth on his neck. He thought about quitting his job and never leaving this sofa. But that was daft because John would have to go to work tomorrow and at some point Sherlock would have to go back to his flat. He reached up and gripped onto John's arm.

John slowed down and waited for Sherlock to push him away but he didn't so John started sucking on the skin at the nape of his neck softly.  

"What are we going to do?" Sherlock mumbled, shifting a little, moving closer.

"What do you want to do?" John asked.

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "What do you want me to do?' He gripped John's arm even tighter.

John pulled back and rest his forehead on Sherlock's, holding his gaze. "Next time, okay? I don't want us to rush."

"Are we stopping?" Sherlock said. For some reason, his brain seemed not to be working properly.

"If we continue you'll be late," John said softly.

"Right, sorry," Sherlock said, pulling back. "I liked it, the kissing, I mean." He leaned over and kissed John again quickly. "I don't want to go to work."

"If you say things like that I'll keep you all night," John smiled.

Sherlock felt torn -- there was no reason to go to work, but was he really considering just staying here all night to keep kissing John? He smiled. "Maybe I could get an evening off," he said. "Or just give one day's notice or something."

"I could follow you up to the booth," he smiled, half teasing.

Sherlock sat back a bit on the sofa. "Look, can we definitely make a proper date for Friday night? I don't work and I'm hoping you don't either so even if I can't get away, can we say it's a date so I know, because I like knowing what's going to happen," Sherlock said.

"I work Friday morning and I'm off the weekend so yes, it's a date," John smiled.

Sherlock looked at his watch. "I guess I'll go," he said. "Don't stare at me out the window, though. It'd be weird."

John grinned. "I thought you were going to tell me not to stare at your arse," he said. He stood to walk Sherlock to the door. "I won't."

"Just don't stare at anything," Sherlock said. "It's too late -- now I'm going to be paranoid." He slipped his coat on. And then he grabbed John and kissed his mouth hard again, wrapping his arms around him tightly, before pulling back. "I'm off then," he said. "Go to sleep and don't have nightmares but if you do, come see me." He smiled and opened the door.

"I will. Come see you, I mean. Not the other stuff," he smiled as Sherlock left. He shut the door and cleaned up, trying to ignore his erection. He couldn't wait to see Sherlock on Friday.


	8. Foreshadowing

Sherlock headed over to work. He got things sorted and started the film. Rather than watching it, he wrote up a note for the owner, explaining that this would need to be his last week. He offered to come cover sometime and told the man to keep his pay. Then Sherlock moved to the window and looked out at the few people who were here. He wished they weren't. He wished John was.

He watched the second showing when there was no one else there. It wasn't very good. He felt annoyed -- he was so clever but kept getting fooled by the films' descriptions. Or maybe he just didn't enjoy movies as much as he used to. When the third show finished, Sherlock closed up and walked home. He got into bed right away. He thought about John as he went to sleep.

When John woke up he realised that for the first time in a long time, he hadn't dreamt at all. He slept calmly and when he woke up he didn't remember anything. He got ready for work and took a cab in, thinking about Sherlock who was only just now going to bed.

_I hope you had a good night. -JW_

John saw his patients and took his lunch and waited to hear from Sherlock. He thought about last night, about what they'd done, and he bit his lip. He wanted to do that again, to do everything.

Sherlock heard his phone and woke up. He reached over and saw John's message. He typed a response and tossed the phone onto the bed.

_I'm sleeping. SH_

Then he realised that was probably rude, which woke him up properly and he grabbed the phone again.

_I like the cinema better when you're there. If you see any victims, give them my name. SH_

There that seemed better. He set the phone on the nightstand and got up for a cup of tea.

_I promise I will. -JW_

John went back to seeing his patients, happier about it now. Sherlock answering him back was like a solid reminder that it was all real.

Sherlock sat at his desk, sipping tea and staring out the window. He was waiting for Mrs Hudson to come up and soon enough, she did.

"So," she said. "Tell me all about it." She moved to the kitchen to turn the kettle back on.

"It's none of your business," Sherlock said, knowing it'd only be a moment before he told her everything. She was the closest thing Sherlock had to a friend, and he knew that she did care about him.

"Tell me," she said, swatting at him with a towel and she moved to the desk to get his mug to top up.

He followed her into the kitchen. "We just got a drink and talked and then I had to go to work," he said. "That's all," he added despite the fact that it wasn't.

"Did he go with you to work?"

"No," Sherlock said. "He has his own job, with normal hours, so why would he come to mine?"  
  
"You know why -- because it's romantic," she said. "What's his job?"  
  
"Doctor," Sherlock said, taking his tea into the sitting room.

"A doctor!" Mrs Hudson said, following him with her tea in hand.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her.

"And was there a good night kiss?" she asked.

If Sherlock could roll his eyes more loudly he would, but instead he said, "Yes."

"And did you like it?" she asked.

"Obviously -- why would I do it if I didn't want to?" he said.

"Well, I don't know, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said. "You've never seemed . . . interested in this sort of business before. I know I tease you about it, but it's only because I want you to be happy. But if you're happy on your own . . ."

"I never have seemed interested because I wasn't," Sherlock said. "But it appears I am now."

"Why?" she asked. "I mean, I'm glad . . . I just want you to be happy."

"John's different," Sherlock said. "I don't know why yet but he is and so far, I feel . . . happy, I suppose."

"Good," she said, smiling. "John, eh? Perhaps one day I'll be able to meet this John who is different and a good kisser who makes Sherlock Holmes happy." She winked at him before taking a sip of tea.

"Perhaps," Sherlock said. He kind of did want her to meet John, as if that would make it real and he could stop being so anxious about everything.

When John returned from lunch, he noticed the waiting room was packed. Before sending the next patient in, he quickly sent Sherlock a text.

_There's another wave of people. I might be here kind of late. I'm sorry. -JW_

Sherlock had fallen asleep on the sofa after Mrs Hudson left. He woke to the noise of his phone. It was all right, it was all right -- it didn't mean anything. It didn't mean that John had realised he didn't like Sherlock after all.

_That's all right. It's only two days until Friday. Will I still see you then? SH_

_Of course on Friday. I'm just sorry about missing you tonight. -JW_

He put his phone away and focused on getting as many people through as he could in the next few hours. He didn't want to stay too far over.

John's text made Sherlock feel better. Then his phone rang again and it was the cinema's owner. Thursday could be his last night, and Sherlock was welcome back anytime. Clearly the man had no idea that on occasion Sherlock had chased away annoying patrons and had essentially used the cinema to seduce a doctor, but that was fine. Soon Sherlock could be free to spend every evening with John.

Which he then realised was kind of a stupid thing to think. He'd really only spent one evening with him and now Sherlock was changing his whole life just to be with John? Yes, that's exactly what he was doing. Why?

Because there was something about John. John was different. First off, Sherlock fancied him. Sherlock never fancied anyone but he definitely fancied the pants off John. It was more than that, though. Sherlock did want to see John all the time -- he'd happily sit around waiting for John to get home from work every day and stay by his side until he had to go in again. He wouldn't do that, of course -- it was a ridiculous idea -- but the fact that Sherlock kind of wanted to must mean something. There was something drawing them together; whether Sherlock was meant to change John's life or John was meant to Sherlock's, it must mean something.

He wondered what John felt and what he'd feel if Sherlock said any of this to him. John would probably see it is romantic or silly, but Sherlock wasn't really either of those. It's just that Sherlock saw meaning in things other people didn't see. The universe wouldn't bring the two of them together unless there was some reason for them to be together.

Despite John's best efforts he didn't leave the surgery until seven. He was only supposed to be part time but it was hard leaving Sarah alone to handle that many people. He grabbed a quick dinner and gently lay down into his bed.

_Finally home. How was your day? -JW_

Sherlock was already at the cinema by the time he got John's text. He was watching the film from the projection room, willing the two kids who were there to leave or at least to spontaneously combust. Neither had happened yet.

_I slept. And thought a bit about you. And then I came to work. SH_

_If there was a window I'd wave. -JW_

_Get a good night's sleep. I'd like to invite you for the first show tomorrow. SH_

_I'd like that. What time exactly? Midnight, like I used to? -JW_

_Is that too late? If not, that would be good. SH_

_I can be there for that. -JW_

John smiled wider. He felt like a teenager again. Sherlock was changing everything for him. He realised suddenly he hadn't seen Ella for a couple sessions. He'd have to go tomorrow before she got worried and called the hospital.

Sherlock was pleased when the kids left and once he'd started the film again, he went down to the seats and watched it on the big screen. No one showed up for the third showing and Sherlock thought about closing up, but considering he only had one night left, he decided to stay for his whole shift. The film was a little bit better the second time he'd watched it, only because he was able to see the foreshadowing which he'd embarrassingly missed the first time round.

When he got back home in the morning, he went straight to sleep. He wanted to be well-rested for Thursday. He wanted his last night at the cinema to be special. He wanted John to make it special.

John got to work earlier on Thursday and told Sarah he'd have to leave early for his appointment. But it wasn't as busy today so the day went a lot more smoothly than yesterday. When he left, he got a cab to Ella's office, limping his way in.

"John," Ella sighed, letting him in. "I was getting worried."

"I know, I'm sorry," John said as he sat down. "I've been seeing Sherlock, I mean, the man from the cinema."

"Oh?"

"We went out once, properly, and we have another one set up. I didn't have a nightmare. I haven't for a couple days now."

Ella couldn't help grinning. "John, that's great. How's your leg?"

"Oh, well . . . the same," he said, rubbing his thigh. "Do you think it'll go away now that the nightmares have ended?"

"John, don't get your hopes up about the nightmares -- it's a good sign -- I just want you to be realistic. And perhaps when you're no longer anxious, even subconsciously, the poison in your leg will go away. We'll have to keep an eye on it."

John took a deep breath and nodded. They talked about the blog, even though he hadn't written in a few days either, and he promised he'd add these new things in as soon as he could.


	9. Climax

When Sherlock got up, he shouted down for Mrs Hudson who quickly came upstairs, looking worried.

"I want to do something special for John and I need your help," Sherlock said, handing her a cup of tea.

"Don't shout like that," she said, with a mix of relief and annoyance. "I thought something was wrong."

"Something is," Sherlock said. "I mean, last week I tried to do something special and he didn't show up so as much as it pains me, I am asking for your help." He sat down at his desk so he didn't have to look straight at her.

"I doubt what you did led to him not coming, I'm sure it would work again," she said, even though she couldn't really picture Sherlock's definition of special. "It wasn't . . . science-related, was it?"

"No," he said sternly, looking over at her. "I took some flowers and tea to the film and left them in our places. You know . . . like a picnic kind of thing. People have picnics, don't they? I didn't dream that, did I? It was supposed to be like a picnic, just inside, at the cinema. That was the idea anyway."  
  
Mrs Hudson walked over and put a little kiss on his head. "That's very sweet, Sherlock," she said. "I think you should do that again." She took a sip of tea and then went into the kitchen to clean up some of his mess.

"But I didn’t take any food -- do you think I should bring food?" he said, still a bit embarrassed by the whole thing but seriously wanting her advice.

"What time's the show?" she asked.

"Midnight."

"No, that's too late. You could take a pack of biscuits, I guess, but don't take proper food."

Biscuits were an excellent idea.

Eventually he shooed her out and started to get ready. He filled his flask with tea and slipped a mug into each pocket. He stopped into the shop on the walk in, and got some flowers and biscuits.

When he got to work, he set his special supplies on the chair in the projection room and started the film. There were a few couples for the first show but they cleared out. Sherlock went down and placed a Reserved sign on a seat and attached a little note that said "Your seat is upstairs." Then he rushed back up and lay out the surprise at the small counter at the front of the room.

When John was leaving the office he ran into Mike and, as he was trying to get away, remembered his internal promise of buying him a drink when he had some money. So John offered and they went to a pub nearby. Mike complained about the students like he always did but raved about being a teacher and loving the work he was doing. John told him about his own job and about Sherlock who, funnily enough, Mike actually knew from the lab where Sherlock sometimes did experiments.

One pint turned into a few more and when John looked at the time he swore softly. He only had five minutes to get all the way across town. He apologised to Mike, paid for the drinks and hurried out as fast as he could. It was near impossible to hail a cab here so he started walking and hoped to find one on the way. His leg was killing him when a cab finally stopped to get him. It was already past midnight.

Sherlock queued up the film and then heard a noise from downstairs. He glanced down to be able to watch John find the note. But it wasn't John. It was a couple, a dumb couple, and Sherlock hated them. They weren't awkward or anxious. They took a seat in a back row and didn't even see the sign. He shot them daggers and then glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes after twelve.

John wasn't coming. Again. Sherlock shouldn't have tried to do something special. He was embarrassed he'd been so stupid and worried that maybe he was wrong to be convinced that their meeting was important at all.

He started the film and sat down on the floor so he couldn't see the film in some ridiculous protest against two-for-one night and romance and feeling stupid.

John was so anxious to get out of the taxi he almost didn't pay for the ride. He jumped when the driver honked the horn and started shouting through the window, and he hurried back and gave him probably too much for it. He hurried inside and passed the couple in the back, annoyed that they were even here. And then he looked around for Sherlock but he didn't see him. He went to their usual seats and he saw the reserved sign, smiling softly. He hoped Sherlock hadn't left. No, he couldn't. He was working. John looked up at the booth but didn't see anyone. Why couldn't he ever get this right? He looked at the reserved sign again and saw the extra note, leaning close to read it. "Upstairs?" he whispered. 

He looked at the booth again and walked out of the theater and to the door Sherlock's coworker had disappeared through the night before. He tried the handle and it wasn't locked so he slipped inside and climbed slowly. "Sherlock?" he said quietly, coming into the booth. He first saw the things on the counter -- tea and biscuits and flowers -- and then he saw Sherlock sitting under the table. He moved closer and sat down as well, nudging Sherlock's arm. "Why are you on the floor?" _  
_

"John, you're here," Sherlock said softly. "I thought you weren't going to come."

"I'm sorry. I went to see my therapist and I ran into a friend after and I just . . ." He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I should have been more mindful of the time. I'm sorry. Everything you brought looks nice," he smiled. 

"I don't want you to stop liking me, John," Sherlock said. He still hadn't come out from under the counter. It was easier to talk when he couldn't really see John looking at him. "I don't even know why you started liking me at all but I don't want you to stop. Unless I do something horrible but I don't think I have yet so don't stop, okay? Please."

"Sherlock, I haven't stopped liking you. I still like you very, very much. I'm lucky you still like me after my keeping this up! I really am sorry. Will you come out so we can have some tea?" he asked, biting his lip. 

"All right," Sherlock said. He moved to get up but hit his head on the counter. He decided to pretend it hadn't happened. He stood up and brushed his trousers a bit. "I don't know why I got under there," he mumbled stupidly. "You look handsome," he added. He glanced out the window and saw the couple and felt like screaming at them, "He did come after all so go to hell!" but he didn't do that.

John stood on his toes and pulled Sherlock down and he kissed the spot on his head that hit the table. "You look handsome as well," he smiled. 

"Do you want some tea?" Sherlock asked. "And biscuits?" He reached out and held onto John's hand.

John nodded as he leaned back against the wall.

"Here," Sherlock said, pulling a chair over. He turned to pour the tea but then turned back. "Wait, where's your cane?"

"My . . ." John trailed off and looked around the little room. Now that he thought about it, not only was his leg not hurting, but he hadn't even thought about his leg since he was walking before. He'd got in the taxi and then . . .? "I guess I forgot it." He finished the thought out loud, his voice a whisper in his disbelief. 

Sherlock smiled and handed John a cup of tea. He took his and sat down on the stool next to John's chair. "I'm glad you came," he said. "I'm sorry I . . . panicked."

"I'm sorry I gave you cause to panic. I never want to do that again," John said. He sipped on his tea and sat down, surprised he wasn't completely freaking out about his leg suddenly being fine. "Who are those fools ruining our date?" he asked with a laugh, motioning to the couple in the theater. 

"They're idiots," Sherlock said. He moved his stool closer to John. "When you finish your tea, I want to show you something."

John took another sip and put his mug down. "I'm too excited to keep drinking now," he smiled. 

Sherlock put his mug down and grabbed John's hand. He led them to the back of the room into the corner. He turned so that John's back was to the wall. "This is my favourite place in this room," he said. "It's almost completely dark but you can still hear the film. We're coming up to the part where they fall in love. Listen," he said, before leaning in and kissing John's mouth, soft and long.

John kissed him back, one hand going to the nape of his neck and the other lacing into his hair. When they finally broke apart John had trouble catching his breath again. "I see what you mean," he murmured. 

Sherlock put his hands on John's hips. He leaned in and kissed John again, humming lightly into the kiss. It felt good. He was so glad John had come and hadn't laughed at his silly behaviour.

John pushed his hips into Sherlock's touch as he simultaneously pulled Sherlock closer so their bodies were flush together. 

Sherlock moved his mouth to John's neck and then up to his ear. "This is my last night here and you're here. I'll always remember this," he said softly before dropping down to kiss at John's neck.

John silently hoped there were no security cameras in here and he started rolling his hips softly against Sherlock's. "I'll never forget this either," he said.

"Can we still have our proper date tomorrow?" Sherlock asked, still kissing John's neck and pressing his hips against John's movement.

John nodded. "Yes, of course," he said, clutching and Sherlock's hips and tugging him closer, harder. 

"John," Sherlock said. He reached up and grabbed one of John's hands and pressed it against him. "You're making this happen -- I could get fired," he moaned softly. "Except tonight's my last night."

"Fuck," John swore softly. He palmed Sherlock hard, moaning softly. "I'm in the same state."

"Can I touch you?" Sherlock said moving his own hand to John's waistband.

John nodded quickly. "Yes please," he said as he pushed into Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock unzipped John's jeans and slid his hand inside his pants. John's cock was hard and hot as Sherlock slowly started to stroke it. "God," he moaned, burying his face in John's neck again.

"Oh God," John moaned, so loudly that he pressed his mouth against Sherlock's shoulder. He hadn't expected that. "Can I . . . touch you too?"

"Yes, please," Sherlock said, shifting slightly to give John some room. He firmed up his grip and sped up his hand. "John, please. . ."

John opened Sherlock's trousers and pushed his hand inside, palming through his pants once to gauge the size and position before slipping his hand in there as well. He gripped Sherlock's cock and stroked. "I feel like a naughty teenager," he smiled, kissing Sherlock's mouth.

"I didn't even do this when I was a teenager," Sherlock said. "I have no idea why you make me want to do this but you do." He kept his hand moving even though he felt like he was literally melting at John's touch.

John kissed Sherlock's mouth again, holding the back of his neck with his free hand. "I've never met anyone like you," he panted softly. The heat was coiling in his groin. He was so close.

"John," Sherlock huffed out. "I'm going to come . . . please don't stop." He sped up his movement on John's cock as he let his hips rock freely until he was coming against John's fingers.

"So fucking sexy," John swore again, squeezing his eyes shut as he came as well, moaning through clenched teeth in his attempt to keep quiet.

Sherlock pressed against John, feeling both of their hearts pounding as they tried to catch their breaths. He looked down at John's face and started laughing a little. He put a kiss on John's forehead, but still couldn't stop laughing. "I can't believe we did that," he said, slowly taking his hand from John's pants. He used his other hand to reach over and grabbed some cloth from the desk. He wiped his hand on it and then gave it to John.

John decided then that his favourite place on earth was being crowded against the wall by a much taller Sherlock. He smiled stupidly and wiped his hand before fixing himself in his trousers. "You ought to show me something more often."

"That was my big move -- now I don't have any tricks for our date," Sherlock said, smiling. "You'll have to take responsibility for tomorrow." He refreshed their tea and then led John back to the chair.

"I'm sure I can think of something," he smiled, moving to sit beside Sherlock again. He nibbled a biscuit and checked the time. His alarm was going to go off in five hours but he didn't want to leave.

Sherlock noticed John. "You should go soon," he said. "I don't want you to be late for work and then be all aggravated for our date." He smiled.

"I won't be aggravated. And I want to stay a bit longer," he said. He didn't want to leave right after what they had done -- that wasn't the reason he was here tonight and he didn't want it to feel that way.

"Good," Sherlock said. "How about you leave when I need to restart the film?" He looked at his own watch. "We've got about a half hour left."

"Okay," John agreed, taking another biscuit and scooting closer to Sherlock to he could lean on him.

"You know we could always come here on a date once -- I don't mean tomorrow, but another time," Sherlock said. He liked the feel of John against him.

"I'd like that. Maybe on our anniversary," he suggested softly.

"Today's the anniversary of the first time you stood me up," Sherlock said. "Is what we just did how we'll always celebrate when you stand me up?" He smiled so John knew he was teasing.

"Shh. We're going to forget that part," he smiled.

Sherlock felt more relaxed than he had in a while. He liked being with John. He liked doing things that Mrs Hudson called sweet. Just because it was John. He drank some tea and even ate a biscuit.

When the movie was over and Sherlock stood to change the film reel, John stood as well and stretched. "I guess I'll go now. I can't wait until tomorrow," he said.

"Me too," Sherlock said. "I'm glad you came tonight . . . I mean, I'm glad you showed up." He felt his face go a bit red and was grateful it was dark. "Should we say around seven? You can text me if anything changes."

"Seven is perfect," John said. "Where do you want to meet for our date?"

"Um," Sherlock said. "I don't know -- I didn't think about that. Any ideas?"

"This was all so nice, I want to treat you tomorrow. What's your favourite restaurant?"

"Um, I don't really have one -- remember? Not a big eater," Sherlock said. "There's a nice Italian not far from mine, but whatever you want is good."

"That sounds good. Let's go there. What's it called?"

"Angelo's," Sherlock said. He reached for his phone and then sent John a text with the address. "Do you want to meet there or somewhere else or what?"

"We can meet there," John said. "I can't wait, Sherlock." He leaned up and kissed Sherlock's mouth softly.

Sherlock slipped his hand into John's hair and held the kiss there for a moment. "Tomorrow, then," he said. He gave him a smile.

"Bye," John said, making his way out slowly.

Sherlock watched John go. He tried to focus on the film, but the thought of what had happened in the corner wouldn't go out of his head. When the movie was over, he packed everything up and locked the room. He left the biscuits on the counter as a kind of thank you. He walked home and climbed into bed. He curled up, almost snuggling into the pillow, remembering John's touch and kisses and sounds and all the things that made Sherlock's body feel good.

John ran home, even though it was only across the street. He felt like he could run around the whole world! He could walk without pain, his nightmares had gone down, he'd met an incredible man and . . . and . . . that was when John remembered what Sherlock had said in the corner. _This is the part where they fall in love. Listen_

Now he did break into a run, almost skipping up the steps. Did that mean Sherlock was falling in love with him? It must, right? He fell into bed and fell asleep almost instantly, not even cursing the alarm when it woke him up. He got ready for work and walked all the way there, eager to see Sherlock tonight. John would say it back tonight. He felt it.


	10. Falling Action

Sherlock woke to the sun shining into the room. He heard Mrs Hudson in the kitchen. He rolled off the bed and went out.

"Did it work?" she said the minute she saw him.

"Good morning to you, too," Sherlock said, moving to the kettle.

"It's two in the afternoon," Mrs Hudson said shooing him away to make the tea herself. "Now tell me, did your boyfriend like your special treat?"  
  
"He's not my boyfriend," Sherlock said. "Is he?"  
  
"I don't know," Mrs Hudson said. "You tell me."

"No," Sherlock said, looking up. "You tell me. How am I supposed to know, I mean, how does one know? Do you think he thinks he's my boyfriend?" Sherlock's heart sped up a bit.

"Calm down, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said, bringing over the tea. "Just calm down and use your brain for a moment." She watched him take a sip of tea and relax a little. "Now, do you like seeing . . . John, that's his name, right?"  
  
"It's John," Sherlock said. "I like seeing John."

"Do you like it a lot, do you think about seeing him and being with him all the time -- even when you were just together and he's walked out of the room?" she asked.

"Is it all right if I say yes?" Sherlock asked.

"Just say what's true."  
  
"Yes," he said quietly.

"Do you like the other stuff . . . the kissing-type stuff?" she asked, not wanting to embarrass Sherlock even though she couldn't help but be curious.

"Yes, I like all that."  
  
"Interesting," she said softly but quickly added, "Do you want to see anyone else, do those things with anyone else?"

"Of course not," Sherlock said. "I can barely tolerate being in your presence, I certainly don't want to be around anyone else but him."  
  
"Be nice," she said, reaching over and smacking his hand lightly. "Then I think he's probably your boyfriend. But do you realise what that means, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked up, a worried look on his face. "No -- what? Tell me."

"It means you're his boyfriend as well."

Sherlock took a sip of tea. "It seems I must be," he said, feeling a bit panicked while at the same time a bit pleased. "I want to be a good one, I think."  
  
"Well, that's a good sign," she said. "So how did it go last night?"

Sherlock smiled. "It went very well indeed."

Mrs Hudson wondered precisely what that meant. She said, "And tonight -- your proper date -- have you got plans for that?"

"We're going to Angelo's," he said. "That's the only plan that I know of. Should I have a plan? Can you give me a plan?"

"No," Mrs Hudson said. "It's all all right, Sherlock. It sounds like it's all good."

Sherlock stood up and went to wash his mug. He moved over to his desk and then quietly said, "Would you at least choose my best outfit for me, please?"

Mrs Hudson held back her excitement. She said nothing, but got up and rinsed her own mug, dried her hands on a towel, went into Sherlock's room and opened his wardrobe. She lay some clothes out on his bed and then returned to finish tidying. Once she had, she went over and snuck in a quick fuss of his hair and then said, "I know you'll be good." She headed downstairs.

The patients didn't seem to annoy John as much today, despite the fact that they were still keeping him from Sherlock. But thoughts of tonight had him grinning stupidly. Tonight he was going to see Sherlock again and everything was going to be so good. He couldn't wait.

When he was finished for the day, he hurried home with a cab this time so he'd have enough time to properly get ready. He showered and shaved and picked out several jumpers and shirts before settling on one he liked.

He left the flat and bought flowers before taking a cab to the restaurant, wanting to beat Sherlock there.

Sherlock had looked in his mirror a million times, hoping Mrs Hudson's choice was right. He had got himself ready a little too early, but that was okay. He had been to Angelo's many times so he knew precisely how long it'd take him to arrive. He headed out, walking. It was a lovely night, and Sherlock was full of an excited anxiety -- not totally relaxed but mostly feeling good.

John was seated at a table by the window and set the flowers on the table while he waited.

Sherlock approached Angelo's and saw John in the window. He was first relieved just that John had come, but then he felt a little overwhelmed -- this was a real date and John was so handsome and kind. Last night flashed in his mind, then, and his nerves relaxed a little. He opened the door and moved over to the table. He awkwardly leaned down and kissed John's cheek before taking a seat.

John smiled. "These are for you," he said, sliding the flowers to Sherlock. "You look really handsome."

"That's kind," Sherlock said, picking them up to take a closer look. As he did, Angelo came over. He was carrying a candle which he lit and set on the table. "Sherlock," Angelo said. "It's good to see you. I did not know you were this man's date."

Sherlock glanced at John and that at Angelo and then back at John. "Yes," he said. "This is John Watson. John, this is Angelo."

John was surprised they knew each other by name, but he smiled and shook the man's hand all the same. He ordered a bottle of wine while they looked over the menu.

Sherlock reached over and held John's hand as they waited for the wine to come. "I thought about last night a lot," Sherlock said. "Thank you . . . for all that. It was nice." He swallowed. "Does this mean I'm your boyfriend now?" He hadn't meant the question to come out quite so stupidly but now that it had, at least John's answer would make things clear.

John rubbed Sherlock's hand lightly. "Yeah, I would really like it if you were," he smiled softly. "I can't stop thinking about last night either."

"Just so you know," Sherlock said. "I'm not entirely confident about my ability in this area. My experience is minimal and from a long time ago. But I'd like to be, to try to be." He looked down at their hands and then Angelo appeared with the wine. Sherlock took a quick drink while John ordered his food and then he ordered his usual.

"I think you're going to be fine," John smiled. "We'll be okay. Do you come here a lot?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "I did some work for Angelo before. I wish I could get more cases . . . but I don't know how to."

"What are you trying now?" John asked.

"Well, I have a website. . ." Sherlock said. "But no one reads it."

"Well, maybe we can take a look at it and vamp it up a bit," John said.

"Maybe," Sherlock said. "Do you know anything about that kind of stuff?"

"I keep a blog, mind you it's not that popular, but maybe if I added some exciting cases." He smiled wider and shrugged. "We can try it."

"Maybe," Sherlock said, wondering if John could really help. Having more cases would be so good, and if John helped Sherlock, that'd be more reason to spend more time with him. Just then the food came. "I hope you enjoy it," Sherlock said, nodding to John's plate. "It's usually good here."

John tried the food and hummed happily. "This is excellent. You picked a good place," he smiled. "Tell me about some of the cases you've worked on so I can get a feel for what's to come."

"Well, I helped clear Angelo of murder and I also located a lost kitten," Sherlock said. "So there's a bit of a range." He smiled. He wondered if the wine was having an effect or if he was just enjoying himself.

"Sounds like we'll have plenty to write about," John smiled.

Sherlock smiled. He liked that John was interested in his work. "Um, how was your work today?" he asked.

"It could have been worse, I suppose. I like that it keeps me busy, you know?" John mixed his food and ate a bit more. "Do you think I could come on a case with you?"

Sherlock smiled. "I'd like that, I think," he said. Because he really would. He was starting to feel again like he never wanted to be away from John, which worried him a little, despite it actually feeling quite good as well.

John smiled. "Really? I would really like that, too. It sounds so fascinating!"

"Well, I don't know about that," Sherlock said. "But I think you could be helpful -- you're obviously smart and you know things I don't know."

"I can't wait to see you work," he smiled. It seemed so exciting to go on cases and crime scenes.

"Well, you'll have to help me get some cases first," Sherlock said. "Your food okay?"

"Oh yes. I really like it here," John smiled.

Sherlock managed to eat a little food as well, though Angelo, knowing Sherlock as he did, thoughtfully didn't pile the plate full. They talked for the rest of the meal. Everything Sherlock found out about John made him like John even more -- even little, seemingly meaningless things. John was interesting. He was different.

When they neared the end of the meal and had long passed the end of the wine, John leaned back and gazed at Sherlock for a moment, taking in his breath-taking features. He was so beautiful and really John had never met anyone like him. "Do you think we'll repeat what we did last night?"

Sherlock felt his face blush a little, but perhaps it was from the wine. "I'd like that," he said. "If you would. We could go back to my flat if you'd like."

John nodded. "I would like that a lot," he said. He was eager to see Sherlock's flat as well, excited and curious to see how he kept it. 

Once they'd finished, Angelo came over and said the meal was on the house. Sherlock smiled thanks to him and helped John on with his coat. "It's not too far," he said. "Shall we walk?"

"Oh! I was going to treat for our date," John said as he followed Sherlock out. "I'll just treat on our next date," he smiled. 

"All right," Sherlock said. He looped his arm through John's. "Your leg bothering you?" he asked.

"It's not at all," John smiled. "You fixed it," he laughed softly. "Kind of."

"I doubt it was me," Sherlock said. "I think it was you." He pulled him a little closer. They walked up to the door at Baker Street, but before Sherlock unlocked it, he checked his watch. "Look," he said. "There's a relatively good chance my landlady might 'accidentally' bump into us on his stairs. I apologise in advance for anything embarrassing she might say to us."

John grinned. "Have you been talking about me again, Mr Holmes?" he teased. 

"She just likes to be in everyone's business," Sherlock said. He pushed open the door and led John in. As soon as they made a move towards the stairs, Mrs Hudson's door opened.

"Sherlock? Is that you?"

Sherlock turned. "Of course it is, don't be daft. It's me, I live here, I'm coming home to the flat in which I live." He turned to look apologetically at John. "John, this is my landlady, Mrs Hudson. Mrs Hudson, this is John."

John smiled and shook her hand. "Hello, it's nice to meet you," he said. 

"Hello," Mrs Hudson said, scanning John and then looking at Sherlock. "I've heard a lot about you."  
  
"You have not," Sherlock said.  
  
"I have too," she said. "It was all good," she added, smiling at John.

"We need to go upstairs now," Sherlock said. "You can quiz John at a later date, please." He started to walk upstairs.

John laughed and turned back to wave. "It was nice meeting you," he said. When they were in the flat John poked Sherlock playfully. "All good, huh?"

"Mostly good," Sherlock said smiling. "Wine or tea?" he asked, after helping John off with his coat. He hung his up as well and moved to the kitchen.

"Hmm. Tea, please," he said, looking around. He didn't know what to look at first between the beakers, the skull on the mantle, the mail knifed beside it, and the stack of papers all over. He followed Sherlock into the kitchen where he saw even more beakers. 

"Told you my place was messy," Sherlock said, grateful that Mrs Hudson had tidied up a little before he left. He turned on the kettle and found two mugs, which he washed just to be sure.

"It's not exactly messy," he said. "It's more . . . chaotic. In a good way."

"I suppose that's fair," Sherlock said. "Sometimes my life is a bit like that." He brought the tea over to the sitting room, motioning for John to sit down as well. "Would you like to stay the night?"

John bit his lip but he grinned at Sherlock's abrupt frankness. "Yeah, I think I would like that," he said. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "Sorry for asking -- I just like knowing what's happening, I guess." He took a sip of tea. "I like the idea."

"I like the idea as well. It's sweet that you asked," John said, sipping at his tea and looking around the room again. 

"Does that mean no sex type stuff then?" Sherlock said. "I'm not sweet all the time, you know."

John grinned. "Sex doesn't have to be sweet," he said, holding Sherlock's gaze. 

"I'd like to have sex with you, I think," Sherlock said.

"I know I'd like to have sex with you," John said, amazed at how calmly they were saying it. Sherlock really was something else. That was when he remembered his plan to tell Sherlock that he loved him. He opened his mouth and chickened out, taking a too big sip of tea. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "Very good." He set his mug down. "John Watson, I am an unusual man, I know that. I think you see that. I'm not very good with many things -- I'm awkward and impolite and get confused by personal interactions. But, I should probably tell you something you may not know." He looked straight at John. "I am quite good at sex."

"Well, I don't mean to brag but I'm quite good myself," John said. "That bit in the booth was just a preview."

"That _was_ good," Sherlock said. "I look forward to seeing you in action."

John smiled and drank more tea. "What do you like to do then?"

"I like to do many things," Sherlock said. "I hope they're the ones you also like to do. Or perhaps would be willing to try. Are there things you particularly enjoy?"

"Several things. I'll show you in there," he answered cheekily, motioning his head towards the bedroom.

Sherlock said, "All right then." He stood up and moved over to John, holding out his hand to lead him in. 

John took his hand and left the mug behind, following him into the bedroom.


	11. Resolution (Cue Boom Chicka Waa Waa Music)

Once they stepped inside, Sherlock pulled John towards him, turning to press him against the shut door -- like he had pressed against him in the booth. "God," Sherlock growled. "You're sexy, John Watson." His hands moved up and down John's body. 

John kissed his mouth, hard and a bit sloppy. He pressed his while body into Sherlock's, tugging him close. "I want to see every inch of you," he breathed against Sherlock's mouth, already palming Sherlock through his trousers. "I want to taste each inch."

Sherlock stepped back from John, looking him in the eye. He started to unbutton his shirt, letting it fall to the ground. He slowly stepped out of his trousers and then took off his sock and pants until he was standing naked before John. "You can see everything now," he said, sliding his hand to hold his own cock.

John's eyes moved slowly over Sherlock's body. He was bloody gorgeous. He advanced slowly, pushed Sherlock onto the bed, and started to kiss and lick his way down. He started at his neck and moved down, pausing at his nipples to tug each one between his teeth.

Sherlock moaned softly as John's mouth moved down his body. "Are you going to take off your clothes as well?" he said as his hand moved to rest on John's shoulder.

"I will, when it's your turn to see," John grinned, moving slowly to Sherlock's belly.

Sherlock smiled and lifted his head to watch John. "I like seeing this," he said, rocking the bed a little.

John smiled as he looked up at Sherlock, still moving lower and lower. "My favourite inches," he said, licking a stripe along his cock.

Sherlock exhaled loudly, falling back onto the bed and covering his face with one hand. "That feels good," he mumbled. It did.

John took Sherlock into his mouth and bobbed up and down, hollowing his cheeks to make it feel tighter. It was good. Sherlock stretched his lips pleasantly, and he hummed around him as he moved.

"John," Sherlock moaned softly. "You're very good at that." He smiled to himself and squeezed John's shoulder before slipping his hand to get lost in John's hair.

John hummed around him and pulled off, licking at the tip and around the head. "You taste good," he mumbled.

"Don't stop," Sherlock said. "Just a bit longer . . . please." He covered his face again. It felt so good but Sherlock wasn't ready to come just yet. He wanted, needed John's mouth to take him right to the edge before Sherlock got his chance to touch John.

John chuckled. "I think I like doing this now," he said, licking stripe after stripe along his shaft. He loved the way the teasing was affecting Sherlock.

"Fuck," Sherlock said, looking up. "You're a cruel man, John Watson." He smiled and slid his hand over his chest. "I need my turn to start soon, please." His voice was a soft moan, and he closed his eyes again.

John wrapped his lips around the head and sucked again, before standing and slowly starting to remove his clothes. "Your turn," he smiled.

"God," Sherlock said, sinking into the bed for a moment. Then he pushed himself up on his elbows, watching John remove his closing. "What do you want from me, John Watson?" he asked seductively.

"I want you to taste me too," he said, pushing his trousers down and stepping out, closer to Sherlock so he could really see the bulging in pants. He reached for Sherlock's hands and pressed them against his erection.

Sherlock peeled off the clothing and then gripped John's hips as he stood before Sherlock sitting on the bed. He dragged his mouth across John's belly, tightening his hold on John's hip bones, before dropping down to lick across John's lower abdomen. He let his breath cover John's hard cock but then moved back up to suck on the soft flesh where he held John's body. Finally he dipped his head again, slowly taking John's cock into his mouth as his tongue swirled and covered it. He let one hand hold the base and he moved his head, taking more in before pulling back, only to repeat the motion again and again. 

"Fuck, Sherlock," John sighed, gripping Sherlock's hair and watching him move. It felt fantastic -- every nerve in his body was buzzing.

Sherlock pulled on John's hip a bit, encouraging him to rock with the movement of Sherlock's mouth. His hand then dropped to between John's legs, holding his balls and letting his fingers trail whispers across John's hole.

"Oh," John moaned softly as he shivered, pushing into Sherlock's mouth a bit. He combed through the curls, petting his head softly as they moved together.

Sherlock hummed around John's cock, his own body rocking on the bed. He pulled John from his mouth and kissed John's stomach again. He reached over and pulled a bottle of lube from his bedside cabinet and poured some into his hand. He quickly moved back, sucking John back into his mouth and sliding his hand between his legs again, this time letting a fingertip push inside.

John spread his legs a bit and leaned forward, half against Sherlock. "Kiss me while you do that," he murmured, tugging on his hair.

Sherlock lifted his head and kissed John's mouth hungrily. Everywhere tasted good. He pushed his finger further inside, letting the rest of his fingers brush against John's balls and inner thighs. "You feel good," he moaned into the kiss.

"You too. I want . . . need to feel more," John moaned, moving with his hand now.

Sherlock shifted his body as he pushed a second finger in. "Let me have you on this bed," he said. "Will you let me?" He kissed John's mouth hard again and then slid his fingers from John, turning to get John down on the mattress.

John pushed Sherlock down and climbed on top of him. "God, yes Sherlock," he moaned, rolling his hips so Sherlock moved between his legs. "Do you have condoms?"

"Of course," Sherlock said. "In the drawer." He slid one hand down to hold John's cock and held his own with the other. "I want you, John. I want to make you feel so good you explode."

John reached for a condom and the lube, pouring a bit onto Sherlock's fingers. "Open me just a bit more," he murmured. "I love your hands . . " In the meantime John rolled the condom onto Sherlock, stroking him gently.

Sherlock moved his hand between John's legs again, pushing two fingers in and starting to pump them. He leaned down and kissed John's mouth hungrily. His hips began to rock as John moved on his cock. "I'm thinking about fucking you," he hissed into John's ear.

John moaned and moved down on his hand harder, needing more. "Please," John panted.

Sherlock spread his fingers, stretching John. He was thinking about fucking John, and it was driving Sherlock crazy. He kissed John's mouth hard again, biting his bottom lip, before dropping down and sucking on one of John's nipples. "Do you want me to go slow or fast?" he asked into John's skin.

John closed his eyes and moaned louder. "Both -- I want everything," John said.

Sherlock pulled his fingers from John's body and stood up on the floor at the edge of the bed. He lifted John's legs a bit and then guided himself inside John's body as slowly as he could. It was almost torture but it felt so good. He watched John's face the entire time.

John closed his eyes and, with every inch entering his body, his mouth feel more and more open until he was moaning loudly, stretched and full. He couldn't stop saying Sherlock's name.

"Does it feel good?" Sherlock said. "Tell me." He kept moving slowly until he was fully inside.

John nodded as he took a shuddering breath. "So good, Sherlock . . . please," he moaned. "I want more."

Sherlock pushed in further and then pulled back just as slowly. When he moved in again, he went just a tiny bit faster. With each thrust in and out, he moved faster and faster. The movement felt incredible. "Fuck, John," Sherlock said. "It's good . . . you're good . . ."

"Come down and kiss me," John said quickly, reaching his arms up as he rolled his hips for more, arching against him.

Sherlock leaned down and kissed John's mouth -- soft at first but then harder as his hips started moving faster into John. He let the weight of his body rest on John's chest, kissing and sucking on his neck. He started to let himself go.

"I'm . . . Sherlock, I'm . . ." John could hardly get the words out. He was so full and stretched and it was like Sherlock was everywhere. It was overwhelming. He reached between their bodies and started stroking himself, hard and fast, coming quickly as he shouted out Sherlock's name.

Sherlock kept thrusting and when he saw John's orgasm, he came as well, pushing as hard as he could into him. He collapsed against John's body, trying to catch his breath. "You were right," he mumbled between heavy pants. "You are good at sex."


	12. The Happy Ending

Sherlock put a kiss on John's lips and then pushed himself up. He pulled out of John and threw away the condom. Then he trailed a finger through the wetness on John's belly and slipped it into his mouth to taste, before grabbing some tissues and cleaning the rest of it off. He lay down on his back next to John. "Do we know each other well now, do you think?" he asked, staring up at the ceiling.

"I think we do pretty well," John said, looking over at Sherlock.

"Then you probably know that I can be a bit . . . obsessive," Sherlock said. "I'm not trying to alarm you but I am already totally certain that it will be difficult for me to let you leave the flat." He swallowed and turned his head to John. "I like being around you. I don't like being around people but I like being around you. I want to be all the time, I think." He smiled awkwardly and then looked back up at the ceiling. 

John considered Sherlock's words as they lay beside each other, their breathing finally quiet and normal. "Are you asking me to move in?" he asked softly. John didn't have a lot of stuff. It would be easy to do it if that's what Sherlock meant. John would like it. He didn't like the thought of being away from Sherlock either.

"I'm asking you not to leave," Sherlock said. "That feels like the way I want to say it, but I suppose yes, it does mean the same thing as the thing you said."

John rolled over onto Sherlock and kissed his mouth long and soft. "I don't want to leave either," he said, smiling wide.

"Good," Sherlock said, slipping a hand to his cheek. "Should we stop talking about it now and have a cup of tea?" He sat up and reached for his clothes, but decided instead to put on his pajamas. He felt awake now but it was actually late at night. "You can borrow a pair of mine," he said.

"Okay," John said. "You're a lot taller though. I'll look like a little kid," he smiled.

Sherlock smiled and threw John a pair. "I won't judge . . . Junior," he said, laughing a little.

"Quiet you! I have no problem strolling around naked," he said.

"Mrs Hudson pops in unannounced quite frequently, so feel free to if you want to give her a show," Sherlock said, heading to the kitchen. "Perhaps she won't now, actually."

John followed him, looking around for the landlady. "I only want to give you a show," he smiled.

"I like what I see," Sherlock said, smiling as he poured the tea. He handed a mug to John and moved to sit in his chair. "I'm glad I've met you, John Watson," he said before taking a sip.

John sat in the seat opposite of Sherlock and looked around the room, around his new home. "I'm really glad I met you too, Sherlock Holmes."

"We're part of each other's stories now," Sherlock said.

"We are," John said. "And I can't wait to find out what's going to happen next."


End file.
